Here, nobody can accuse him of not hustling, because he literally is nailed to the ground.

Here, nobody can exhort him to work on his wooden hands because, well, the dude actually has wooden hands.

And here, finally, nobody can ever dare say that Kobe Bryant is bigger.

Here, the self-proclaimed Superman really is a super man.

All 50 feet of him.

Welcome to the Forbidden Center, the Great Brick Wall of China, the Temple of the Clang Dynasty.

Welcome to hell on earth for the Lakers, but heaven every day for Shaq.

Here he can stand forever in his uniform, holding a ball, surrounded by fans, without ever having to shoot a free throw.

Yeah, I still don't quite believe it either, but in the heart of Beijing is a giant statue of Shaquille O'Neal.

It sits outside the east gate of Chaoyang Park, Shaq looking over the basketball courts and soccer fields that sprawl across a massive playground.

Shaq always bragged that there would never be another Shaq, but, well, the statue is exactly that.

That's his dark bald head, his vacant stare, his Fu Manchu mustache. That's his name on the lower part of the front of his white jersey, and those are his baggy white pants that stretch below his knees.

That's also his number scrawled in red on the back of his jersey, and -- guess what -- it's not his Lakers 34.

Forever and ever, O'Neal will wear No. 32, the number he has worn in Orlando, Miami and Phoenix.

That statue is tall enough to see the freeway traffic over the trees, big enough to put a basketball hoop on his butt, and real enough to make you wonder.

Why? Why would somebody go to such extremes to shadow the repressed locals with a monument to a guy who, even with his four NBA championships, is best known for clanking foul shots and carrying a grudge?